This lake is worth seeing – a beautifully manicured and appointed park-lined “lake’ formed by a precisely defined dam on a channelized Salt River that runs right through town. Shore anglers fish from concrete walkways that border the north and south shores. A concessions area rents paddle boats and tour boats.
I am here – along with only one other angler – in the early afternoon of sunshine and 106 degrees. The other angler is Mo Rukli, age 28, an aspiring professional bass angler. “I fish here for practice,” he says. I see immediately that he knows what he’s doing. He’s throwing a junebug-color piece of plastic on a Carolina rig on Power Pro braid. (Novices don’t do that.) As I arrive he sets the hook, yanks his rod, but nothing’s there. “Lot of bluegill down there,” he explains.
I’m throwing my chrome Rat-L-Trap in an effort to cover as much water as possible. Mo again sets a fishless hook, shakes his head, and says, “They’re down there.” I stay with the Rat-L-Trap.
Mo owns his own two-year-old business: an on-line bazaar that sells items he imports from north Africa. He warehouses and ships everything himself. His wife, a graphic designer, developed the Web site.
He tells me that his largest bass from this lake was six pounds, that a primary forage is crawfish, and that there used to be hydrilla “until the big flood” three years ago.
He sets the hook again and this time his rod bends double. Must be a big one. It’s a fat-bellied two-pounder. He explains that all of this lake’s bass fight like much bigger fish. I immediately switch to a dropshot rig with an “Aaron’s Magic” Robo Worm.
Mo is a tournament angler, has fished in three of FLW’s major league events, and fishes other tournaments in area lakes which he says are difficult and have poor quality bass. He says golden algae wiped out three of the better lakes.Mo gives the #1 answer to my question about his fishing beginnings: “My dad took me when I was little.”
As we talk the skies darken and the winds arrive. “It’s monsoon season, and it’s coming – a good time for me to be going,” he says while looking at the sky and reeling in his line. Rain begins.
“Does the rain end as quickly as it starts?” I ask.
“No. It usually stays awhile,” he says.
I do not follow his advice. I decide to stay – casting in the shelter of the highway bridge overhead. It’s a mistake. Hard winds and pounding rain blow sideways making casting and fishing problematical. The weather stays – and strands me away from my car - for two hours during which I catch no fish and get no bites.
After the rain I walk along the walkway for another hour and see bluegill and carp, but no bass. I throw a bunch of lures – even a Lucky Craft Pointer – and get no bites. Mo’s bass had given me confidence and expectation, and they’ll be in place when I visit again.
Photo: Mo Rukli at Tempe Town Lake in Phoenix
